


Daisy and Pablo

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cal hates Coulson even if he doesn't remember him, Cal is a reluctant shipper on deck, Daisy And Her Huge Crush On Coulson, Dreams, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, First Kiss, Future Fic, Gunshot Wounds, Memory Alteration, POV Outsider, Pets, Poor Cal, Poor Daisy, Romance, SAD CAL FEELS, Sad, Skoulson Romfest 2k16, here have some vague references to plot i'm not really going to include, i mean everybody can tell Daisy and Coulson are in love (even Cal), vague references to Cal/Jiaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't like this guy in a suit who hangs around Daisy all the time.</p><p>Skoulson RomFest 2k16: Day 6 - previous prompts: "Winslow's Veterinary Clinic"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daisy and Pablo

At first he questions why the repeated visits.

She admits she doesn’t have a pet.

Her professional life is too complicated, she says, to be able to take care of it properly.

"I have business nearby when I'm in town," she says. "I... insurance, I sell insurance. All over the state. And it's nice seeing your clinic. It's a nice place. I hope you don't mind."

Maybe she is hitting on him.

No, that doesn’t seem right. It’s something else. He knows it’s something else.

“I don’t have many friends around here, it gets lonely when I visit,” she says. “I’m sorry. I know it’s weird, coming here when I don’t have a pet. You must think I’m a psycho.”

She is a bit weird.

“My clients call me Dr Winslow,” he tells her. “But since you’re not a client… you can call me Donald.”

The young woman smiles warmly, she she’s touched by his simple words. There’s something about her, she seems kind of sad.

“I’m new in town, too,” he confesses. “Trying to get my footing. I could use a friend, too.”

“A friend,” the woman repeats and for some reason her sadness seems to spike at the word. then she nods at him. “I’d like that, Donald.”

 

+

 

“Maybe I can ease myself into it,” she says, leafing through the pamphlets on what to do if your dog has stomach worms. “Start with something small. Fish, maybe.”

“Ah, well,” Donald tells her, “not much I can do for you there. I’m afraid I don’t treat fish. They’re… outside my area of expertise.”

She snorts, amused.

“Maybe a turtle, then,” she says.

“I’m more in the mammal field these days, actually.”

At that she laughs out loud. It’s a good sounds. It reminds Donald of something. Like something he has heard in his dreams. Ever since moving to this city he has had peculiar dreams.

 

+

 

It’s the hottest day of the year for this neck of the woods and Daisy keeps pulling at the collar of her t-shirt because it itches.

“I have some ice cream inside,” he offers.

“I just came for advice. I think my turtle hates the house where I live.”

“Come on, I can do ice cream _and_ turtle advice.”

He doesn’t have an appointment for another hour and walk-ins on a Tuesday afternoon are pretty rare.

She seems to hesitate unnecessarily. She doesn’t think he’s hitting on her, is she? He would never. Oh she’s beautiful as they come - those angel eyes of hers - but there’s absolutely nothing there for him. In fact Donald is pretty sure there’s nothing anywhere for him. Telling her this would be awkward but he still wants to make her comfortable.

“I can bring the ice cream out here if you’re worried about-”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay, Donald. I know your heart.”

It’s a weird way of putting it but she follows him into his office. He has to move a couple of boxes out of the way so she can sit across from him.

“Sorry about the mess.”

“You should see my bu- _room_ ,” she tells him. “This is nothing.”

He opens the small fridge where he keeps not just his ice cream but the few medicines that need to be kept cold.

“What’s your poison? Vanilla or chocolate?”

Daisy snorts. “ _Please_. Chocolate.”

Donald quirks an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure we’re not related?”

The girl looks a bit confused for a moment then smiles.

They eat the ice cream while she tells him about how the turtle she bought keeps escaping her terrarium and trying to get out of not just her room but the whole building. And that’s when she’s not hiding under Daisy’s bosses’ desk (Donald is a bit lost at this point; does she live in the same place at her boss? does she bring the turtle to work?) which Daisy thinks it’s pretty funny, specially when she catches her boss trying to feed the turtle and talking to it.

He tells her about how things are going with the clinic. Funny and gross anecdotes about his patients. Daisy seems to enjoy the company well enough (she does look a bit lonely, like she doesn’t have people to talk to) but then in the middle of it she gets this sad and faraway look, and she starts staring at Donald like he’s someone else.

“What is wrong, Daisy?” he asks. They don’t know each other at all but he hates the idea of her being sad.

She shakes her head and changes her expression quickly. 

He doesn’t bring it up again.

 

+

 

Donald has seen the man before.

He hangs around Daisy. A suit of a man with a permanently robot expression, Donald dislikes him on the spot. He normally loves strangers, loves meeting new people. He doesn’t know what is it with this guy.

Yes, he's seen him waiting outside for Daisy a couple of times, while she and Donald chatted about dog breeds she was never going to adopt. He wondered. Was he a chauffeur of some sort? A bodyguard? Why would an insurance agent need a bodyguard? That’s silly.

He had seen them interact outside the shop, even though he knows Daisy didn’t see him looking. He was just worried about her, wanting to look out for her.

One day he comes into the clinic, Daisy obviously surprised about it.

"Sorry to interrupt. We got called back," the man tells her.

She nods at him, turning to apologize to Donald and make the proper presentations.

"Sorry. This is my... partner. In the insurance – salesman thing." Both the man and Donald narrow their eyes at her, for different reasons. "He's...uh... _Pablo Jiménez_.

He fake-smiles at the guy. "Well, you certainly don't look like a Pablo Jimenez."

"Tell me about it," the man replies, shaking Donald's hand.

The few times they interact Donald finds it hard to be friendly. Except for that time he catches Donald looking at his gloved hand, covering an obvious prosthetic. It makes him wonder what kind of accident an insurance salesman can be in that this is the rest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Pablo Jiménez tells him. “I’m trying to get used to it.”

“Was it… someone’s fault?” Donald asks, no idea why, he just felt compelled to.

The man narrows his eyes slightly.

“Just an unlucky accident,” Pablo says.

He knows he’s lying. He might have his reasons but that doesn’t endear him to Donald.

Then Pablo stops wearing suits when he comes by.

Then he stops coming by altogether.

 

+

 

Things go on normally for a while.

Donald is enjoying his work and after a year he’s built a decent list of regular clients. The city starts feeling familiar, though it’s never going to be Milwaukee. He’s not sure why he left there but something almost seemed to _draw_ him into a new town, a new life. Like he had to leave something behind. He’s not sure what. He still has strange dreams he can’t remember afterwards. The only bits he remembers are about the one he has more often; it’s a hot summer night, somewhere foreign and humid and Donald is woken up in the middle of the night by a woman whose face he can’t remember.

Daisy drops by from time to time, always unannounced, always in a rush. She buys some medicine for a rabbit she’s bought for a woman she works with, “because she’s really fluffy inside” she says as if Donald is supposed to know what that means. He likes it, though, hearing about her life, being a peripheral part of it. For some reason he can’t explain (other than the obvious fact that the young woman is so likeable) he has come to _cherish_ the encounters with his friend.

 

+

 

Everything changes the day there's shooting and mayhem and it lands right at the door of his clinic.

Well, his back door.

“Were those gunshots?” Donald asks when he sees Daisy’s figure crowing behind the dumpster outside the building.

Both her and Pablo Jimenez turn around, surprised to see him. The young woman is grabbing at her side, hand red with her own blood.

“Is that a gunshot _wound_?”

“Get back in,” she tells him, waving wildly.

For some reason Donald obeys to the tone of her voice. Scary. It’s also scary the way as soon as he is back inside the clinic he hears more shooting. He spies the situation from the little dirty window of the storage room. He sees Daisy and Pablo taking cover from the fire, Pablo putting his body between danger and in injured Daisy. She lifts her hand and Donald doesn’t know what goes on outside his field of vision but the alarming sounds of shots being fired stop. Or they pause long enough that Daisy and her colleague decide is safe to try to make it inside.

When they all get to the relatively safety of his office Donald is as breathless as the other two. He had never seen anyone get shot before. In fact he’s never done well with violence, he’s squeamish about it. He’s never thrown a punch in his life.

"Daisy?" he calls.

She sits down against the wall, that man killing all the lights in the place and they are signalling for him to get down too.

"We're gonna have to lie low for a second here," she says, closing her eyes for a moment.

“Doctor Winslow,” Pablo calls.

He’s dazed, fixated on the girl’s fingers smeared with blood, making him feel dizzy.

“Yeah?”

“Can you keep an eye on this door while I secure the front?”

There’s something about that tone - like Daisy’s - that makes it easy to follow orders. He does, while the young woman bleeding on the floor of his office catches her breath.

After securing the perimeter Pablo comes back, kneeling besides her and speaking in soft voices that Donald can barely make out.

“You think they know?” she asks, sounding panicked.

Pablo shakes his head. “They’ll think it’s just a random shop we found refuge in. They don’t know the owner is still here.”

“Coulson, I’m sorry, I-”

“Not now.” He turns towards Winslow. “Your house. Is it far?”

“Five blocks.”

“Not too far, but far enough,” he replies, gears turning in his head. “We need to take care of Daisy’s wounds.”

“Yes, of course,” he says. “I guess the hospital is out of the question.”

They both give him an impatient look at that.

 

+

 

He doesn’t mean to spy on them, the conversation sounds serious.

He just went to grab his first aid kit while Pablo took care of lying Daisy in a comfortable position over his couch. The girl actually apologized for bleeding over it. What a strange girl.

Donald stops on the doorframe when he comes back, not really _hiding_ , technically, but definitely _watching_.

“You have every right to be pissed off with me,” Daisy is saying.

“But I’m not,” the man is replying, while he helps her out of her jacket.

“I know what I did was reckless.”

“Yes. And understandable and completely human,” Pablo tell her. Daisy drops her head. “Did you think I was going to berate you for something like this?”

The man sounds genuinely appalled. But no, not angry.

“Did you think I wouldn’t understand?” he says, softer.

“I don’t know,” the young woman says. “Maybe. I don’t know if you-”

“I would have driven you here myself,” the man replies.

He thinks it’s probably a good moment to come back. He shouldn’t delay cleaning those wounds.

“I am well stocked,” he announces, patting the medicine box.

“As long as you don’t give me cat medicine,” Daisy jokes.

“There’s no such thing as cat medicine,” he jokes back.

“Yes, there is.”

Both her and Pablo make room on the couch so he can sit and take a look at the wounds. Wound, singular, thank god. The bullet made a bit of a mess on her side, but it’s just muscle damage and a lot of blood. The problem is that the blood has made her clothes stuck to her skin and that’s going to hurt. She twists one hand into Pablo’s shirt without looking back at him, fingers searching blindly for an anchor. Daisy is not one of the animals that come into his clinic, of course, but cleaning a cut is basically the same, he can do this.

“It’s okay,” she says when Donald rolls up her top and sees the wound exposed, grimacing imagining how painful it is. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot.”

He gives her a judgemental look. What kind of life…? Oh. He smiles at her, swabbing the wounded area.

"I gather you're not insurance salesmen?" he figures out, looking at her and Pablo.

She shakes her head guiltily.

The next thing after he cleans the wound is actually closing it.

He is used to talking to his patients, use words of encouragement, even if his patients can’t quite understand what he is saying, he’s found that a soothing tone works very well with animals. People are trickier (he considered becoming a doctor, once upon a time, but he thinks he has made the right choice here, he’s better off treating dogs). He would still want to do something for Daisy, so the experience is less miserable. And maybe take care of her - yes, she is a stranger, but ever since he met het Donald had felt this odd wish to offer her support, gentleness.

He goes as slowly as he can with the surgical glue on the cut, watching as she keeps still and the only sign of pain is the way she bites the inside of her cheek.

"You are a very brave young woman," he tells her.

The girl looks amused.

"Told you, I've had worse."

"But she is," Pablo, or whatever his name is, says, "very brave."

"And very stupid," Daisy says, holding her partner’s gaze, speaking in that secret language they seem to have.

"Just brave," he replies.

"I'm sorry," she says. Again? he wonders. She already apologized and the man seemed to not want her apologies after all. 

When Donald is finished placing some gauze over the area and covering it with Daisy’s t-shirt again “Pablo” squeezes the woman’s shoulder for a moment.

“Why don’t Doctor Winslow and I make you a cup of tea while you rest for a while?” he offers.

The man seems very into making unilateral decisions. Does he even know if Donald has tea in the house? No, he doesn’t. And Donald is willing to give this guy a place to hide, but he still doesn’t like him.

 

+

 

As the water boils the man insists on keeping the lights relatively down, paranoid, looking jumpy and at the same time exhausted. Donald studies him as he closes his eyes for a moment, needing the rest as much as Daisy. What is he, fifty? They seem to be close. Is he taking advantage of Daisy? The idea makes Donald want to break things. And yet the man has been nothing but gentle towards the younger woman.

"You didn't look like a Pablo," Donald says, vindictive.

"Last time I let her choose our code names," the man says, drawing his hand across his forehead. He looks worn out and stressed.

"Are you... spies?" Donald guesses.

"I guess we are,” the man says. “My name is Phil, by the way."

Donald shakes his hand, remembering his first _I don’t like this guy_ impression. Well, maybe now there’s a chance for another first one. He’ll try to keep his mind open.

"You do look like a Phil,” he says. “You don't look like a spy."

The man gives him a tired look. “I get that all the time.”

 

+

 

He falls a bit behind coming back to the room and only catches the tail of a conversation.

"Who's _Cal_?"

Daisy scrambles for an answer.

"Code," the man called Phil says. "Spy stuff."

"Oh," he says, impressed against his will. Weirdly proud of Daisy. She’s a spy.

“Thank you for the tea,” she says. “And for… all this, doing all this.”

“I told you, I don’t have many friends in this city,” Donald says. “I can’t go recklessly losing them for silly stuff like a gunshot wound.”

Daisy’s smile is again both soft and a bit sad in a way that Donald doesn’t understand. In a way that feels like there’s a word stuck at the tip of his tongue but he knows he’ll never get it out. It feels like when they were in his office that afternoon eating ice cream, they way she looked at him then.

 

+

 

She eventually falls asleep once the painkillers start working.

He watches as Phil takes her legs gently and stretches her all along the couch so she won’t wake up all cramped afterwards. He throws a glance at her injured side and sighs a bit, running his fingers through Daisy’s hair for a second, but long enough to confirm Donald’s suspicions.

“We should probably just let her be,” he says, turning around.

Donald is not inclined to be a good host to this guy but civility wins out.

“Do you want something stronger than tea?”

The man looks almost _relieved_ at the offer. Are he and Daisy married, after all? They act so alike.

They sit down at the kitchen counter, that way they can keep an eye on Daisy, and Donald pours a couple of glasses of scotch.

“Thank you,” Phil/Pablo says. “For everything.”

Donald scrutinizes his face. He looks a lot less like a robot now. But he also looks older. Donald takes a long sip from his drink before confronting the man about it.

"I have to tell you, Phil, it surprised me that Daisy had a – guy – like you. You're a bit old for her."

“It’s not like that,” Phil rushes to correct him. “We’re colleagues. Friends. I hope. I’m not a great friend.”

Seems like an odd thing to say to a stranger.

“I guess it’s easier telling stuff to a stranger,” he wonders out loud.

“You’re not a stranger, Donald,” the man says. He backtracks when Donald blinks at him without getting it. “At least you’re not a stranger to Daisy.”

He remembers the first time he saw her outside his clinic. He had this weird feeling that he knew her name was _Daisy_ even before she told him.

"Daisy, from the first day I saw her outside my practice, I felt this protectiveness towards her,” he tells Phil, because it’s easier telling stuff to stranger. “I know it makes no sense because I don't know who she is but..."

"Well, Daisy has that effect on people," Phil says.

“She does,” he agrees. “But that’s not it.”

Phil nods. “I know.”

Moving to this city. Daisy. His dreams. It can’t be a coincidence. 

He notices the dots of blood on his hands and shirt from when he attended to Daisy.

“You should probably grab a shower,” Phil says. “I’ll keep watch.”

Whether he means on Daisy or in case people with guns are still looking for them Donald doesn’t know. He knows it’s going to be a long night so he finishes his scotch and heads for the bathroom. 

 

+

 

When he comes back they're both asleep; Phil leaning out of his chair with his head resting on the edge of the couch, almost right over the girl's stomach. Daisy snoring quite audibly, her hand perched over the man's shoulder. He knows the guy is full of crap when he told him there was nothing going on.

 

+

 

“You should get some more rest,” he tells Daisy when she walks up to him. He was looking out of the kitchen window, apprehensive that the bad guys are still out there after Daisy (and Phil, he guesses, he doesn’t actually wish him harm). Were those the bad guys? He didn’t even ask. He’s sure Daisy is the good guys, anyway.

“I recover quickly,” she says. “And Coulson looked like he could use the whole couch for himself.”

She doesn’t use his first name. Maybe Donald was wrong.

“You can use my bed.”

“Thanks but…” she throws a glance behind her, at the sleeping man on the couch. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”

“I understand.”

“He’s sleeping and he still looks exhausted,” she comments, still looking at him over her shoulder.

It’s true. Phil doesn’t look particularly healthy.

Something suddenly falls into place for Donald.

“The turtle,” he mutters.

Daisy turns around and frowns. “What?”

“He is the one who keeps trying to feed your turtle,” Donald explains. “And talking to it.”

Daisy smiles with unbearable fondness. “That’s him.”

“You care about him,” he states, a bit disappointed.

Donald knows it’s none of his business. He’s not her father.

“I miss him,” Daisy says, incomprehensible. Phil is right there.

“ _Miss_?”

She shrugs a bit, looking out of the window.

“We were close and now…”

“You’re not.”

“It’s not his fault,” she says. “Sometime ago bad stuff happened to him. A lot of bad stuff. He’s not close to anyone, anymore.”

Something about the tone of her voice feels painfully familiar. He has the feeling he’s felt that kind of longing, even though he knows he hasn’t.

“I have this feeling there was someone in my life, a long time ago, someone very special,” he says. “But I can’t remember.”

Daisy gives him a sympathetic look. He can’t tell her that it’s been gnawing at him harder since she started visiting, this feeling that once he had someone. It’s _crazy_ , Daisy would think he’s crazy. But something is wrong with him, he knows it. How could he forget someone he loved? And yet he remembers the feeling clearly, he remembers _loving_.

He turns around and takes a seat at the kitchen table.

Daisy follows him, covering his hand with hers when he doesn’t keep talking.

“Hey. Just because you can’t remember it that doesn’t mean it’s not part of you,” she tells him. “It’s part of you, part of who you are. Just because you lose something it doesn’t mean it goes away.”

That makes sense and something about Daisy’s wisdom sounds familiar. Not something that’s part of him, he’s not wise. But he thinks he once met someone who was. Wise and kind. Like Daisy.

Or maybe it’s late and he really is beginning to lose it, after gunshots and daring escapes and blood on his couch.

“Maybe is someone I never got to be with,” he says, thinking of the possibility for the first time. “A missed chance that stuck with me. Have you ever felt like that, like you’ve let some important chance just go?”

She drops her head.

“Yes, Donald, I think I’ve felt that.”

She takes her hand away and she turns around on her seat.

“Hey,” she says. “Good morning.”

Donald didn’t notice Phil get up at all but she did.

And it is good morning, because the sun is starting to rise and Donald can feel the beginning of warm light as it crosses the kitchen floor. It feels like years have passed since he found these two by his back door, and not just one night.

“How are you feeling?” Phil asks her.

“Better. I think we can head out.”

“What’s the rush?” Winslow says. “I’ll make you breakfast. I have cake.”

“Cake?” Daisy asks.

“I always have cake. Who doesn’t like cake? It’s chocolate.”

“I like cake,” Phil says, taking a seat at the kitchen counter.

 

+

 

Again he really doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. It’s that he’s pretty nosy. It’s two spies holed up in his humble abode, that’s exciting. And they left the door to the bathroom open.

Phil is supposed to be helping Daisy clean up and Donald was just bringing them some clean towels. He stops just right outside the door and realizes he can see them both without them seeing him.

“Are you sure you’re recovered?” Phil is asking, his voice urgent. “I know you would like to leave as soon as possible to protect him.”

“I’m okay,” she says. “Just, help me here.”

Phil does as she says, slipping her injured arm into her jacket with enormous care.

“Daisy…”

For a moment she doesn’t meet his gaze, which is strange because ever since he met them Donald has noticed the girl is always looking at Phil. He’s not sure Phil has noticed that, super-spy or not.

“I’m never going to see him again, I know that,” she says. Donald’s stomach drops. “Something like this… it can’t happen again.”

“You don’t know that,” Phil is saying, the voices so low that Donald can barely hear them now. “Maybe in the future when the world is not so…”

“Screwed up?” Daisy offers with a bit of humor.

“Yeah.”

“Coulson…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to feel like I’m missing big chances _all the time_ with you.”

“What-?”

Daisy doesn’t let him finish. She kisses the older man on the lips. Donald frowns, specially because for a moment it looks like Phil is going to reject her ( _how dare he_ , she’s perfect! she’s much more than perfect!) but then he doesn’t; he wraps his gloved hand around Daisy’s nape and draws her to him, kissing back and how, Donald witnesses with dismay, the man pushing his tongue into Daisy’s mouth shamelessly.

A new wave of dislike for this _Phil_ overcomes him, like this was somehow his business and he had to break it up, but then he hears Daisy sigh audibly and when she pulls away from the kiss she has this otherworldly joyful expression on her face and Donald has never seen her happier since he met her.

But when the guy’s hand actually slips under Daisy’s jacket Donald knocks outside the door and yells “Towels!” very loudly.

 

+

 

The rendezvous point (spy speak, he’s somehow excited to have been part of all this) with their team is some blocks down from here, to avoid getting Donald in trouble. He and Phil check out the front door, make sure no one is waiting for them, before an injured Daisy can come down.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks Phil, remembering Daisy’s words about not seeing Donald again.

“That would defeat the purpose,” the spy explains, not unkindly. Like with Daisy he has the uneasy feeling that this man knows something about him, something he’s not telling. “But uh, thanks.”

He’s awkward, he’s noticed that. Like Daisy. Maybe they _might_ not make such a bad pair after all, though Donald still objects. At least he knows this guy is willing to take a bullet for her. And that he makes her happy. 

"It's none of my business but I have this odd urge to ask you to take care of her," Donald tells him, all stiff and inappropriate.

The man smiles shyly.

"There's no need for that, she can take care of herself," he says, as Daisy comes down the stairs, her eyes on the lookout for suspicious stuff anyway. "But I'll try anyway."

“I just talked to the team,” she says. “We’re set.”

“Doctor Winslow,” Phil shakes his hand in farewell.

“Mr Jiménez,” he jokes.

Phil doesn’t seem amused. He shakes his head and steps ahead a bit, giving him and Daisy some privacy to say goodbyes.

“Next time someone is getting shot at outside your door, maybe don’t invite them in,” Daisy advices. “It’s pretty dangerous.”

He looks at her. She really is the most remarkable person he’s ever met. Well, at least the most remarkable person he remembers meeting.

Donald is glad he got to spend some time with her.

She gives her a one-armed hug, burying her face into his neck for a moment, softly sniffling.

"Maybe I'll see you on Adoption Day?" he asks when she pulls away afterwards, eyes still damp.

They both know that won’t happen.

She smiles.

"Yeah," she says, looking sideways at Phil who is busy making sure no one is around to see them leave for the millionth time (being a spy is consuming work, he didn’t know). "Someday. When I'm ready to have a pet."

“Goodbye, Daisy.”

“Goodbye, Do- _Goodbye_.”

He watches them go, Phil looping his arm around Daisy’s back to help her walk. In a few seconds the darkness has already swallowed their frames.

Donald Winslow thinks about the young woman’s wise words.

Just because you lose something it doesn’t mean it goes away.


End file.
